


No More Happy Memories

by SantaBaby



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst?, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 13:11:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15931127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SantaBaby/pseuds/SantaBaby
Summary: (Post TSOT) Sherlock and John meet after the wedding and Sherlock has to deal with his broken heart.





	No More Happy Memories

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted before but I accidentally deleted so here’s take 2.

Sherlock smiled for the first time in weeks. Finally, he had something to think about other than... him. Sherlock closed his computer and stepped over the table, crushing the newest paper. He looked out the window, taking in the clouds and sunbeams. He looked down, watching all the meaningless people stroll by. He wondered who they all were. He walked away before he began deducing.  
Sherlock finally cared for the first time in weeks. He cared about his complexion. He showered and cleansed himself, feeling as if he was starting again, as if that horrible period was passing. He ran a hand through his damp curls, barely remembering how he'd once touched his hair. He dressed into a suit, finally ridding himself of the gray pajama shirt and blue dressing gown. Sherlock looked fresh, and he was ready.  
When Lestrade arrived, Sherlock was in his seat, waiting. "Good morning," he said, standing. Lestrade had to do a double-take, making sure that the man he was seeing was the same heart-broken detective he'd seen only days ago. "Well?" Sherlock said. "Are you going to just stand there or tell me what it is that happened?"  
Lestrade nodded and explained the details of the case. "She was stabbed multiple times in the chest. Her assailant is believed to be her husband, Christopher Wayne," Lestrade said.  
Sherlock nodded. "What was she stabbed with?" he asked.  
"You'll have to come see," Lestrade said with a grin. He used to grin at Sherlock like that. Sherlock quickly shook that thought away and grabbed his coat.  
“I’ll follow,” he said. Lestrade nodded and left.  
The cabbie was a young man. He had short hair with eyes that looked deep enough to dive in. Sherlock wanted to drown in them but not the way he wanted to in his. He wanted to drown and never float back up.  
“Where to?" the cabbie asked.  
"20 Fenchurch Street," Sherlock said. The cabbie nodded and began the drive. Sherlock rode without another word.  
Her ring was clean. That was the first thing Sherlock noticed. He pulled it off her finger, observing the inside. It was clean too. This happened whenever she worked it off her finger, but only to shower and sleep. She never had an affair and neither had her husband, judging by her clothes. Her clothes were nice. Expensive, but at least a year old. That meant he treated her but only when they had extra money. Except for her jewelry. Even the clean ring had a diamond that could've broke most men. So he splurged on her.  
“Got anything?" Lestrade asked.  
Sherlock smirked. "Just a bit," he said. He stood and immediately froze as he saw the man at the cab across the street. He had graying blond hair with tan skin that had once tasted so divine. Sherlock watched as the man made his way across the street to the scene. He grinned at Sherlock. "Hey mate. Haven't seen you in ages," John said. Sherlock said nothing. John turned to Greg. "How are you? How's the daughter?" he asked.  
Lestrade smiled and responded with something Sherlock didn't hear. He was too focused on John. He was wearing a jumper underneath his signature jacket with patches on the shoulders. His shoes were old. Sherlock remembered them from running across London streets and sprinting after suspects. God, he wanted nothing more than to grab him by the collar and kiss him. But that was foolish. John was married. And not to Sherlock.  
"May I take a look?" John asked suddenly. Sherlock nodded and stepped aside. John crouched down and looked. It then occurred to Sherlock that he hadn't spoken since John arrived.  
"I got bits and pieces," he said.  
John looked up at him. Sherlock's urge to kiss him rose as his adorably pink tongue darted out and wet his lip.  
“Is that all?" Sherlock asked, making sure not to sound too stuck up.  
John looked back at the body. "The wounds are different sizes," he said.  
Sherlock crouched beside him, pulling his magnifying glass from his pocket. Indeed, the wounds were different sizes. Sherlock smiled at John, pocketing the glass. "Looks like your skills have sharpened since I last saw you," he said. John chuckled, and Sherlock had to contain the shudder that wanted to roll down his spine.  
“Well, you learn to observe more with a baby on the way."  
Ah yes. The baby. The glue between John and Mary. The baby that Sherlock wished could've been with anyone other than John. His John.  
“Any ideas, Sherlock?” Lestrade asked.  
Sherlock stood. “Four,” he said. He looked at the distance from the building to the body. “Three,” he corrected.  
***  
“Multiple murders?” Anderson scoffed. “Listen To me, it was her husband. No doubt about it.”  
“Then explain why her ring is clean on the outside. She makes an effort to show it. She wants people to know she has it. If it was an unhappy marriage, than she wouldn’t want attention drawn to it,” Sherlock sneered.  
Anderson looked taken aback for a moment before shutting his mouth and glaring at Lestrade. He gave a stiff nod and stalked off.  
Sherlock looked at his friends. “Who would’ve done it?” Lestrade asked.  
Sherlock thought. “What did she do?” he asked.  
“She was a divorce lawyer,” Lestrade said.  
Sherlock nodded. He was going to say something about an case gone wrong when John piped in.  
“Maybe it was the children of two divorced parents.”  
“What?” Sherlock asked.  
“Think about it. The children want to go with one parent but the other parent wins. They’re upset and decide to get revenge,” he said.  
Sherlock looked at the body. The wounds weren't deep but there were multiple, as if they'd stabbed her in a frenzy. "The knife," he said. "Where's the knife?"  
Lestrade handed him the bag containing the knife. The dried blood covered all of it. That didn't make sense. The wounds weren't deep enough to... "Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed.  
"What, have you got something?" John asked.  
"This isn't the weapon," Sherlock said.  
"Yes it is. It was laying right by her when he got here," Lestrade said defensively.  
“Exactly. It's a fake. They stabbed her and then took the real weapon and replaced it with this one. That's why it has her husband's prints on it," Sherlock said.  
Lestrade looked at the knife, then at the body, then up at Sherlock. "Then who did this?" he demanded.  
"Was it the children?" John asked.  
Sherlock thought for a moment, twisting the Rubik's Cube of a mystery over in his head. "I'm going to need to see her most recent client," he said finally.  
***  
Michael Holland was a short man with a dark beard that ran all the way up to his ears. He wore a plain, black shirt with jeans. He looked very young to already have divorced someone. He sat at Lestrade's desk, intimidated by the three men staring at him.  
“So, Mr. Holland," Lestrade began.  
"Please call me Mike," he said, hoping a bit of friendliness would ease the tension.  
"Mike," Lestrade said. "You were one of Mrs. Wayne's clients, yes?" The man nodded. "And you were fighting for custody of your two children, yes?"  
“Yes. They were staying with Lucy while I relocated," Mike explained.  
“Lucy?”  
“My wife," he clarified. "She was a good mother and an even better friend so when she asked for a divorce I was a bit shocked but eventually understood."  
"And why did she want to separate, Mike?" Sherlock asked.  
Mike gulped, obviously not used to men like Sherlock. Sweat began to gather above his lips and his forehead became sweaty as well. "She felt we were drifting apart and that it would hurt our children more if we didn't split," he said.  
Sherlock nodded. "How old are your children?" he asked.  
"Saul is four, and Adam is three," he said, counting his sons' ages off on his fingers.  
"How long were you married to Lucy?" Sherlock asked.  
over the past few months but he still wore it. Therefore, he still had feelings for Lucy but was coming to terms about his divorce. "Five years," Mike said. "When we found out she was pregnant, well, that was kind of the push we needed," he said.  
Sherlock nodded. He looked at Lestrade, telling him he was finished.  
"Who won custody?" Lestrade asked.  
"I did."  
"That must've been a very goo day for you," Lestrade continued.  
Mike nodded. "Yes," he said.  
None of the other questions were deal breakers. In fact, Mike hadn't revealed anything negative about Lucy or Mrs. Wayne. Sherlock still felt off and asked to talk to Lestrade and John in private. The three men left the room, shutting the door behind them so that Mike could not hear.  
“He's innocent," Sherlock said.  
Lestrade chuckled. "I could've told you that," he said.  
“Yes, but there's something wrong. The sweating, the nervous moving. John, you saw it. His upper lip was drenched, was it not?" Sherlock asked.  
John nodded. "He's right. I think Sherlock should interrogate him just a bit longer," John said to Lestrade.  
Lestrade huffed. "Fine."  
Mike nearly jumped at the sudden opening of the door. He turned to see Sherlock in the doorway. "Mr. Holmes, am I free to go?" he asked.  
"No," Sherlock said.  
Mike looked at him, unsure of what was happening. "Mr. Holmes, I am not guilty," he said quietly, afraid of the tall man.  
Sherlock sat in Lestrade's chair. "I don't think you're guilty," he said.  
Mike sighed in relief, eyes obviously softening at this statement.  
"But I think you know something," Sherlock said.  
Mike stared at him. "I don't know anything!" he said.  
Sherlock stared, eyes staying locked with Mike's. "Mike. Tell me everything," he said softly, leaning forward.  
Mike tried to think of an excuse but looking up at Sherlock, lips trembling, he cried. "I loved Lucy. And our children. We were perfect. I- I don't understand," he cried.  
Sherlock set a hand on Mike's arm. "It's okay. Just tell me what you know," he said.  
Mike sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Mrs. Wayne and Lucy's lawyer didn't get along. They had an old feud or something. Every time we stepped in that courtroom, it was like an endless battle," he said.  
"An infinite war," Sherlock said.  
"Yes," Mike said. "That's exactly right."  
Sherlock leaned back in his seat, new ideas already forming. "Thank you Mike. My colleagues will take care of you outside," he said.  
Mike smiled. "Thank you. Thank you," he said, standing and marching towards the door. He turned back to Sherlock but saw the man had his eyes closed. He left, quietly closing the door.  
***  
“Ms. Bertrand. Divorce lawyer for five years. And, old partner of Mrs. Wayne," Lestrade read from a file.  
Sherlock nodded, eyes still closed and still sitting in Lestrade's desk chair. Apparently the two women had worked together but fallen out around the time of Mrs. Wayne's wedding.  
"Where is her work?" John asked.  
"Foster Street, Lestrade said.  
John jotted this down. "I can visit and talk with her," he said.  
Lestrade nodded. "Take Sherlock," he said.  
Sherlock finally opened his eyes.  
He got Mike to talk. Maybe it'll work on her too," Lestrade said.  
John nodded. He closed his book and zipped up his coat. "Sherlock? Will you come?" he asked.  
Sherlock looked at his friend. He wasn't smiling, as if this invitation was formal, but his eyes were looking at Sherlock desperately as if he was praying Sherlock would accept. He nodded. John smiled. "Great," he said.  
***  
The two men sat in the back of a cab. Just like the good old days, Sherlock thought. He looked at John, starting at where his hands were in his lap and then working up to his eyes. They were a tempting brown, making Sherlock's mouth water. And John's hands hadn't helped either. They were positioned right over the zipper of his pants. It was as if he was showing Sherlock how easy it would be for him to strip and get off right there in front of him. Sherlock swallowed, banishing those thoughts. He didn't think of John stripping again until they arrived at the law firm.  
"I'm sorry boys, Ms. Bertrand is out right now," the secretary said.  
Sherlock knew this couldn't stop them. "Where is she?" he asked.  
The secretary opened a binder. "On business," she read and closed the binder.  
Sherlock smiled. "Thank you," he said. He pulled John away from the desk and whispered to him. "She's in Liverpool," he said.  
“For a divorce case?” John asked.  
Yes, Sherlock knew, it was unusual for divorce lawyers to travel somewhere other than their own cities. But this wasn't lawyer work.  
"She's with her sister," he said.  
"Sister?" John asked.  
"Yes."  
"Why in the hell is she with her sister?" John asked.  
"I'll explain in the cab," Sherlock said and pushed John through the door.  
They caught one of the passing cabs. They sat and John waited for Sherlock's explanation. "Well?"  
Sherlock typed out a text to Lestrade. She's in Liverpool. John and I will go. -SH.  
I'll be at the police station, Lestrade texted, along with the address.  
“Her sister is the murderer," he said.  
John cocked his head. "How could you possibly know that?" he demanded.  
"It's obvious. Mrs. Wayne and Ms. Bertrand were partners and best friends. When Mrs. Wayne became too busy for work because of her wedding, Ms. Bertrand left. She started her own law firm, thinking she could beat Mrs. Wayne. She didn't and they became rivals. Things were particularly heated in this case because Ms. Bertrand's sister was friends with Lucy. When Lucy lost her children, Ms. Bertrand's sister killed the woman responsible: Mrs. Wayne. Ms. Bertrand knew this and took her sister to Liverpool. From there, they'll go to Wales, where Ms. Bertrand will help her sister start a new life," Sherlock said.  
John stared at him in awe. "Fantastic," he muttered.  
Sherlock turned away so John couldn't see the little smile that he had. God, how badly he wished he could tell the cabbie to drive to Baker Street and push John inside.  
"So, where exactly in Liverpool is she?" John asked.  
Sherlock turned back to him. "Everton Hostel," he said, pulling his phone from his pocket and jabbing in the address. he showed a photo to John. He nodded and Sherlock stuffed his phone back in his coat."We'll wait outside and get them when they come out," Sherlock said.  
"Tonight?" John asked.  
Sherlock nodded, then saw the look in John's eyes. "Why?"  
John pulled his phone out. "I've got to call Mary," he said. He put his phone up to his ear and waited for the sound of his wife's voice. Sherlock listened to John's answers and statements. "Yeah, yeah, Mary. I'm going to be out late. Yes, it's for a case. I shouldn't be back until tomorrow." There was a break in his speaking. And, with the next thing he said, Sherlock felt his eyes sting. "I love you too."  
Sherlock discreetly dabbed at his eyes as John hung up. He swallowed, trying to make his throat feel not as tight. "Did she give you permission to tag along?" he asked.  
John shook his head playfully. "She doesn't make my decisions, you know," he said.  
Sherlock shrugged. "Most of them, at least," he said.  
John grinned and looked out the window, reflection staring back at him, back at Sherlock. Sherlock thought he looked so perfect in the dying lights of dusk. No, no, not those thoughts again. Those weren't allowed. They may have been allowed before but not anymore.  
John turned back to Sherlock. "So. Are we off for Liverpool?"  
***  
Everton Hostel was a nice building. Maybe less than The Shankly Hotel or Hope Street Hotel but it was still nice. Sherlock and John waited in a cafe across the street, watching and listening for anyone going or going out that matched their killer and accomplice.  
John checked his watch. "Nearly ten," he said. Sherlock nodded. "God, I'm so bored," he complained. And then, he gave a little chuckle.  
“What?” Sherlock asked.  
“Nothing. I just remember wen you would yell that and shoot that damned smiley face,” John said.  
Sherlock missed those days. When he and John were joined by the hip. When absolutely nothing could come between them. When it was just the two of them against the world.  
"I remember that too," he muttered.  
John looked up at him. "Do you still do that? I'm sure it drives Mrs. Hudson mad," he said.  
Sherlock shook his head. "I've laid off the wall," he said.  
John cocked his head but, instead of asking anything, shrugged instead. "Do you think they'll be long then?" he asked, searching the street for the women.  
"Most likely one or two hours. Depends on how crowded the plane station is," Sherlock said.  
John nodded. "So, while we're waiting, might as well catch up," he said. Sherlock looked at him. "Go on. What have you been up to?" he asked.  
Crying everyday since the wedding. Staying inside to avoid social interaction. Not drinking or eating. "Nothing," Sherlock said. "What about you?" he asked, wanting to hear about John.  
“Oh, we’ve begun baby proofing the house,” John said.  
The baby. The words pierced Sherlock like a dagger. "Yes. The baby," Sherlock said, almost a hiss.  
John glanced down at his watch again. "Yes. God, it's nerve-racking," he said.  
"The baby or this?" Sherlock asked.  
John looked up at him. "Both," he replied with that smile that made Sherlock's dopamine levels go all silly. And, just possibly, they went too high.  
"I've been thinking of you," he blurted.  
John looked up at him, eyes suddenly wider than normal. "You- you've been... me?" he stammered.  
Sherlock couldn't find his voice. "Yes," he somehow squeaked out.  
John looked down. He looked back up after a moment, his puppy eyes not helping the swell in Sherlock's chest. "I have too," he said. "I think of you everyday." Oh, was this it? The holy moment he'd been praying for? The moment where John would finally come back to him? Please, let it be.  
“But, I have Mary,” John said.  
Sherlock stared, his heart crumpled. Of course John loved her. That was his wife. And what had Sherlock been? A measly boyfriend who left him stranded and alone for two damn years? Yes, that's what he was.  
“I'm sorry, Sherlock," John said. His eyes were hurt and sorrowful. His heart was broken too. Sherlock wished he could up the pieces and put it back together, just so he wouldn't be sad. So he'd be happy with Mary.  
“It's-" Sherlock tried to say but broke off as tears filled his eyes. He hid his face in his hands as tears fell down his face in wet streaks. He shook and attempted to silent the choked sob that threatened to escape him.  
“Sherlock," John said, leaning forward. Sherlock pulled away, head still in his hands. John sighed but moved closer. He rested a hand on Sherlock's knee. Sherlock didn't flinch. Despite the sadness and pain, he still wanted John so any contact was cherished. John's other hand pulled Sherlock to look at him. Sherlock sniffed, hoping he didn't look anymore pitiful than he felt. "Sherlock," John said, his voice soft, the way he used to speak after a kiss in their flat or in a cab. Sherlock loved that voice. "It's my fault. I missed you so much and Mary was just there so I tried to cope by being someone else," he explained.  
"But you love her," Sherlock said, tears falling again. "You really love her."  
John rubbed his thumb over Sherlock's knuckles. "I do," he muttered. That was the first time he'd said that to Sherlock. But it was in the worst possible way. Sherlock wished John could've worded it differently so images of the wedding wouldn't come rushing back but he didn't and they came. God, why couldn't he have had a case and not been able to go? Wouldn't it hurt less then? Or would it hurt more because he wouldn't get to see John for one last time?  
There was the sound of tyres on pavement and Sherlock looked up, searching the street for the suspect. There she was. And with her sister. It was perfect. All they had to do was get her. And away from the feelings in the cafe.  
***  
Sherlock dashed down the sidewalk, keeping an eye on the woman in front of him. John was behind him, footsteps echoing into the night. The suspect tried to cross the street but was nearly hit by a motorbike. She fell to the ground and Sherlock, along with John, stood above her. "You're under arrest," Sherlock said, pulling Lestrade's badge from his pocket.  
Lestrade was waiting at the police station, cup of coffee in hand. He set it down and whipped out his handcuffs. "Thanks, Sherlock, John," he said. He marched the woman into the station, leaving Sherlock alone with john again.  
"John," he began but was stopped as John kissed him. It was just a soft peck but it meant everything to Sherlock. He stood, frozen as John hailed a cab. He turned.  
“Coming?" John said.  
Sherlock sucked on his lower lip for a second before nodding and getting in the cab.  
***  
The cab ride was both heaven and hell. Sherlock felt so at peace with John beside him but then again, he felt anxious because of the kiss and if that meant John still had feelings for him. It was all too confusing. Finally, they made it back to London and John insisted they stop at Baker Street first.  
221 B. It used to be his home. John's. But now, it was Sherlock's prison. There was no more John, and, because of that, no more Sherlock. Sherlock stood at the door, wishing John would just let the cab drive away so he could cry. But no. John waited beside him. He looked down at John and caught him staring. "John," he said.  
“Hmm?”  
“Why did you kiss me?”  
John's answer went straight to Sherlock's heart. "Because I love you," he said.  
"I love you too," Sherlock mumbled, although he knew john heard it clearly.  
John turned and said, "I know I'm with Mary, but, don't think I won't come around. All right?"  
Sherlock nodded.  
John smiled. "And don't think I'll never love you," he said. Sherlock nodded again. John's smile widened. "Goodnight, Sherlock," he said.  
Sherlock smiled as John climbed into the cab. He waved as John disappeared. Was he still allowed to call John his? At least privately? Yes, Sherlock finally decided. John had said he loved Sherlock. And that was a reassurance. That meant that every night spent thinking about his clever, soldier boy weren't one sided. Sherlock smiled. Maybe his thoughts would be happier tonight.


End file.
